


If You Want To Get Warm, You Must Stand Near The Fire

by Antigone_Morris



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M, timetravel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Morris/pseuds/Antigone_Morris
Summary: Takes place right after Meg dies in S3. The meeting with Robin’s father has not happened yet. Guy finds himself somewhere new. This is an ongoing fic, and I post chapters as I am writing them, so check back often for updates.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

** “Now I know that if you open the right door at the right time, you might finally find a place where you belong.” **

** Seanan McGuire  **

  
Sherwood, 1195

Guy limped through the forest, weak from hunger, exhaustion, and grief. It was all he could do to not give up, lie down and sleep where he stood. The only thing stopping him was the thought of Hood’s smug fucking face if he discovered his mortal enemy asleep in his turf, defenceless and handed to him on a platter. And, if he was honest with himself, the thought of the dreams waiting for him when he closed his eyes. He’d have to face them eventually, but not yet, not while he could help it.

Everyone he cared about was dead. His mother, Lambert, Marian, sweet little Meg, whose only crime was trying to help him. Isabella was still around, but Guy would have to kill her now, anyway; it was her or him. Besides, she was so rotted through with hatred and resentment, she might as well be dead. _(And whose fault was *that*, if only he could admit it?)_ That rabid ferret, the Sheriff, was dead, too late to do any good, but at least Guy had done one thing right. _(“You left it too late, though, didn’t you?” Marian whispered in his ear. No, don’t think of her, don’t think...)_ Guy blinked away the moisture in his eyes, and gritted his teeth furiously. He was so bone-tired, angry and sad, he didn’t notice the oak’s thick roots spreading across his path. He tripped, hitting his head on the tree as he fell, and lay there unconscious. Next to his head, one of the knots on the wood expanded and changed shape, looking eerily like a door...

Plymouth, 2020

Hope lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of the rain beating on her window. She couldn’t sleep, there was nothing on tv, and the walls were making her feel claustrophobic. She needed some air. She got up, leaving Falkor snoring gently curled up at the foot of the double bed. Grabbing her parka and woolly hat, she opened the door, and almost tripped over the man lying on the pavement just outside her house. 

“What the fuck! Hey!” She prodded him with her foot. “Hey, sleep it off somewhere else!” He didn’t stir, and Hope bent down to have a closer look, suddenly concerned. He was pale, and his breathing was shallow. His face was bruised, he obviously hadn’t showered in a while, and a cut on his forehead had just started clotting over. Gingerly, Hope bent lower and gave an exploratory sniff. No alcohol smell. Could he be on drugs? He did look awfully pale, his black shirt and leather trousers were soaked from the rain, and still, he didn’t stir. Hope knew that if she called an ambulance on a Friday night, and for what looked like a homeless druggie, she’d have to wait a _long_ time. Cautiously, she brushed away his wet strands and pressed her fingers on his neck. His pulse was strong and steady, at least. He probably just needed to get out of the rain. “Don’t be an idiot, Hope, that’s how people get murdered,” she thought, but she knew that the sensible part of her had already lost the argument. She looked at him again, appraisingly. He was thin, but tall and broad-shouldered. There was no way she could carry him inside without dislocating a shoulder or something. Shaking her head, she went back inside, and grabbed a sheet from the laundry hamper in the bathroom. She rolled him over, grunting, wrapped him in the sheet and dragged him inside, hoping none of the neighbours was watching from a window. She placed him on the floor in front of the radiator, covered him with a duvet, and, as an afterthought, put a sofa cushion under his head. 

“Now, remember I was trying to help you, if you wake up in a murdery mood...” she told him. Then she walked into the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea, took a steak knife from the drawer under the cooker, and sat on the sofa, wrapped up in her gran’s crochet throw, her eyes glowing in the light of the muted television. She was definitely not sleeping tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Hope’s eyes snapped open. Oh great! How long had she nodded off for? She rubbed the damp patch on the cushion briskly, annoyed with herself. Drooling, too. How ladylike! Really, it was a good thing the only one sharing her bed was Falkor. She shook her head, and her eyes travelled to the shape of the man still sleeping on her floor. He was tossing in his sleep, that’s what must have woken her up. He was mumbling, too, and his accent was odd. He sounded... Scandinavian? Hope got up, stretched her stiff back, and went to find Falkor. She carried the little dog to the kitchen, placed him in front of his bowl of kibble, and made herself a cheese sandwich. After a brief hesitation, she made a couple for her strange guest, too. He would probably wake up soon, she hoped. 

She carried her sandwich and a glass of juice back to the living room, and gave her guest an appraising look. He was sweaty, and looked flushed. He must have got sick after the drenching he got last night, she thought. She felt oddly guilty for leaving him on the floor, in his wet clothes, all night; not that I could have done anything else, she scolded herself. She padded quietly across the room, her toes sinking in the deep carpet, and leaned over to touch his forehead. As soon as her fingers made contact, his eyes jerked open and she found herself staring into pale blue lakes, surrounded by dark, long eyelashes. “Oh, good, you’re up,” she said awkwardly. Just then, the enthusiastic crunching noise from the kitchen was replaced by the clicking of little claws on linoleum, and then the silence which meant Falkor was now walking on the carpet. She felt a wet nose pressing against her arm, and the man’s eyes shifted to look at the dog.

Guy woke up with a start, to find a strange woman standing over him. She didn’t look like anyone he’d seen before; she was very tall, and very fat; her skin looked soft, like a baby’s. From that, and her well-fleshed shape, he could tell she must be rich. But she wore no jewellery, and her long, dark hair was uncovered and unbound. Behind her, he could see the rest of the room, and he realised he hardly recognised anything. Everything, from the covering of the floor, to the padded furniture, to the strange flat rectangle that flickered and blinked in the corner, was so alien that he couldn’t begin to think where he was. Everything was clean, soft, and smelled of flowers, and Guy felt the hair rising on the back of his neck, because this, this- place can’t have been part of the world, and that meant he was dead.

Just then, something moved in his field of vision, and Guy’s worst fears were confirmed, as he looked at a creature that looked like the unholy offspring of a hound and a maggot, pale like a ghost, with small, milky eyes. The creature sat obediently next to the woman, bared a row of tiny, sharp teeth at him, and growled.

Hope saw the man’s eyes widen in alarm at the sight of Falkor. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite... He’s just grumpy, he’s deaf and almost blind, and he hates new things, but he’s a good dog, aren’t you Falkor? Here, let him sniff your hand, then he’ll know you...” She reached over, took his hand and placed it in front of the little dog’s nose, feeding him a bit of her sandwich at the same time. “Here, now he’ll know you’re a friend, your smell brought him food,” she said, giving the dog’s ears a playful ruffle. 

Guy was so surprised when the woman burst into a stream of words, and took his hand, that he let her. She called the creature a dog, and she cooed and fondled it like it was her own precious babe, but it didn’t look like any dog Guy had ever seen. It looked, more than anything, like the illustrations monks liked to draw in the margins of books, to warn people away from sin. 

“What’s your name?” said the woman. “I’m Hope.” 

Hope; And so, this wasn’t Hell, and it sure as fuck wasn’t Heaven. But there was Hope, which meant he was in Purgatory. “Guy,” he said and closed his eyes tiredly, drifting back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Falkor is a double Merle dachshund, he was rescued from a puppy farm. Double Merle gene can cause birth defects in dogs, most commonly deafness and eye deformities. He is named after the dragon in NeverEnding Story.
> 
> Medieval English, especially in Northern England, was heavily influenced by Norse and probably sounded very similar to modern Scandinavian languages in pitch and tone.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Guy woke up, the room was bathed in cold, winter sunlight. He was shivering slightly, and there was a wet cloth on his head. The misshapen dog was sleeping, wedgedbetween him and the wall, enjoying the heat radiating from his body. Hope was sitting on a chair, watching him. “Hi... Guy,” she said, rolling his name around her mouth. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. You have a bit of a fever. I think you got too cold last night.” She reached out, handing him two white pills and a glass beaker full of water. “Sorry, I’m out of juice. Take these, they’ll bring down your temperature.” 

Guy gave the pills an experimental bite, and made a face. He’d had bitters and willow bark powders before, so he swallowed them quickly, and downed the water in three gulps. He looked at the glass despondently; his mouth and lips still felt dry and chapped. 

Hope noticed his look, and said “I’ll get you some more,” getting up and leaving the room. Guy gave the sleeping dog a dark glance, and quickly got up to follow her. It growled half-heartedly, but stayed put.

In the kitchen, Hope filled the glass with tap water and took the extra sandwiches she had made earlier out of the fridge, Guy watching her intently the whole time. She motioned for him to join her at the table; he grunted a stiff “Thank you,” sat down and took a big bite of cheese sandwich. 

“You don’t say much, do you?” She asked after a couple of minutes had passed in uncomfortable silence. You make up for it in the staring department, though, she thought to herself. She didn’t think his eyes had left her for more than a few seconds the whole time he’d been awake. It didn’t feel sleazy, though, more cautious and alert, like he was expecting someone to jump out at him from behind the curtains. And very nice eyes they are, too, she thought to herself, and bit her lip to avoid laughing.

He chewed up his mouthful, swallowed hard, and said “Is this Purgatory?”

“What? It’s Plymouth,” she said blinking in surprise.

He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, look,” she gestured to the window. “You don’t know where you are?”

“You are Hope,” was his perplexing reply.

Hope stared at him, beginning to wonder if the tall man sitting at her table was all there. He had said all of four sentences to her all day, and only half of them made any sense. His eyes were alert and intelligent though. Maybe it was a second language thing, she thought, remembering his accent.

“Never mind, don’t worry,” she said in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. “As soon as your fever drops and you feel better, you can go back where you belong.” She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t the flash of panic in his eyes. “It’s ok,” she hurried to add, “there’s no rush. Stay for a bit, to make sure you’re ok. Unless you have somewhere you need to be...”

He dipped his head and muttered, so low she wasn’t sure if she had heard him right: “I have nobody...”


	4. Chapter 4

Guy couldn’t believe he was about to get kicked out of Purgatory already. He had long accepted he would go to Hell when he died. _(“I’m already there,” he had told Meg before he took her down with him.)_ Once he had thought he could wed Marian and redeem himself, a lot of good that had done him. Now,both Meg and Marian were in Heaven, where they surely belonged, and instead of meeting the Sherriff waiting for him in the sulphuric mists, he was with Hope. Then she looked at him with those kind eyes, and said he was allowed to stay for a while, and he knew he had one last chance not to fuck this up. But first... Apparently some things never change. He lifted his head again, and said, “I have to piss.”

Hope blushed and jumped up. “Of course, the bathroom is over here, I’ll show you.” Then, before she could change her mind, she grabbed a bath towel from the mountain of laundry waiting to be folded on the washing machine. “Actually, if you want to get cleaned up a bit, you’re welcome to have a shower,” she eyed his leather trousers that were muddy and so stiff from the rain thatthey practically creaked, “and I’ll find you something clean to wear. Here’s a towel, soap, and you turn the hot water on from here, see? I’ll just... go get clothes.”

She hurried out, closing the door behind her, and picked Falkor up on her way to the bedroom. “Have I gone crazy, Falkor?” she asked the little dog who was enthusiastically trying to lick her ear. “Why, yes, mysterious strange man, why don’t you stay at my house, get naked in my bathroom and sleep on my sofa.” And not any old strange man, but one who looked more dangerous than almost anyone she’d ever met. All wiry muscle and tension, and yet, somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid. He reminded her of those big cats you saw at zoos, pacing up and down behind bars, ready to attack anyone who got too close, and very, very sad. “And we both know how good I am at saying no to lost and damaged creatures, don’t we, Falkor?” She kissed the dog’s furry head, and plonked him on the bed, where he curled up contentedly on her pillow. Then she dragged over a chair, climbed on, and reached for the box containing the clothes she still couldn’t bring herself to throw out, since her father had died. Dad would be happy to know they were used; they would be too loose on Guy, but long enough, and if she could find something with a drawstring...

Guy stood under the shower, and the hot water hitting his sore muscles felt so good he thought he might cry. He rubbed the grime out of his hair and was trying to convince himself to step out of the wonderful, warm waterfall when he heard a crash, followed by a thud, and loud cursing. “Motherfucker idiot asshole chair, oooooow, fuck, fuck, bollocks, FUCK!” He jumped out of the shower, practically skidded out of the door wrapping the towel around his waist, and ran towards the shouts.

In the bedroom, the dog was on the bed, barking so violently his long body was bouncing up and down. A chair was lying on the floor, one leg broken, and Hope was also on the floor, cussing like a pirate. Her trousers were ripped, she had a bloody gash on her thigh were the broken chair had caught her, and her shoulder was hanging in a sickeningly wrong angle. She looked at Guy, blushing bright red , furious and embarrassed. “Don’t look at me!” she said.

“What happened?”

“I broke the bloody chair,” she sobbed. “And I dislocated my shoulder.”

“Do you have any bandages?”

“In the bathroom,” said Hope, gritting her teeth, “second drawer. Here, have some clothes, too,” she kicked a pile of clothes that were on the floor next to her, then grabbed her shoulder and moaned again.

Guy dragged the clothes on, hurriedly opened anything that looked like it wasn’t nailed down in the bathroom, and returned with several rolls of bandages.

“Hope?” he said, kneeling down beside her.

“Yes?”

“Sing a song.”

She gaped at him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Just trust me. Close your eyes, and sing as loud as you can. The kind of song you’d sing in a tavern.”

Hope screwed her eyes shut. “Mama... I just killed a man... Put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger now he’s dead... Mama... Life has just begun... And now I’ve gone and thrown it all awa-a-AAH FUCKING HELL, JESUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“Popping your shoulder back in place,” Guy said calmly, wrapping a bandage tightly around her arm and chest. “You can stop singing now.” He got up, and offered her his hand. “Get up, slowly. I need to clean that scrape.”

Hope blushed again. “I can clean my own ass,” she said through gritted teeth. “You just... Stay.”

Guy shrugged, and sat on the bed, as far away from the dog as he could.

After a few minutes, Hope came back, wearing a long, flowing skirt instead of the ripped trousers. She lay back on the pillows, blinking away tears. “I fucking broke my fucking chair.”

“It wasn’t a very good chair, then,” Guy said simply.

Hope sighed, and put her hand on Falkor, letting him sniff her before drawing him close. “Where did you learn how to fix dislocated shoulders, anyway?”

Guy shrugged again. “I was a soldier. This sort of thing happened a lot.” He realised he felt much more relaxed now, after being clean and having the chance to use an old, familiar skill. “I’ve never seen it happen from falling off a chair, though. How did you manage?”

Hope turned to look at him. “It’s sort of a thing I was born with... It’s called Ehler Danlos Syndrome, EDS. My bones just pop out of place really easily, and I can hurt myself from doing fairly simple things, even walking too much. It sucks, basically.”

She decided to change the subject, this felt too personal after the humiliation of her fall. “Why did you make me sing?”

“To distract you. It’s never easy, but it hurts more if you fight it. Getting drunk helps, too.”

“I don’t think I can afford to get drunk, I’m already falling off the furniture,” she said, and he chuckled quietly, the sound making Falkor lift his head from her arms and give a soft woof, before settling down again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Guy asked, tossing his head towards the dog.

“There’s _nothing_ wrong with him,” she said, then relented. “He was born like this. He came from a puppy farm, his parents were probably related. When they rescued him he was so unsocialised, they didn’t think he’d ever been out of the kennels, and he snapped at everything. He can’t hear you coming or see you make sudden moves, and he gets scared and lashes out. He’s ok if he knows what to expect though, you just need to go at his pace. And he’s fine moving around the house, he knows where the furniture is, and he’s figured out if he walks along a wall he can use it as a guide,” she said proudly, and he gaped at her. This wasn’t a faithful old pet who’d got injured, it was a deformed whelp that any sensible person would have drowned in a bucket before it was off the teat. Guy couldn’t figure out if she was a saint or a lunatic. _Can’t be a saint, with that mouth on her,_ he thought with a smirk.

Neither said anything for a while, and Hope played with Falkor’s ears, feeling oddly self conscious. Finally, Guy said quietly, “Why would you keep and feed a dog who’s not good at anything?”

“He’s good at being Falkor,” she said. “No one is as good at being Falkor as he is. Just because he’s not pretty and can’t do everything and doesn’t act all sweet and cute, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve love, “ she added fiercely. Then, quietly, “Everyone deserves love,” and even though her voice was soft, it felt to Guy like a punch in the gut. He moved his hand against the dog, stroking its side with his little finger. They both just stayed like that for a long while, side by side, looking at nothing, gently stroking the little dog between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find information about Ehlers Danlos Sundrome here: https://www.ehlers-danlos.org/
> 
> . Deaf-blind dogs do learn to compensate, using methods like memory, feel of different surfaces they walk on, walls, and the smell of different rooms, to navigate. For more information, see here: https://www.manytearsrescue.org/pdfs/BlindAndDeafDogs.pdf


	5. Chapter 5

Later, when it was getting dark, Hope made taco shells with tuna salad, lulled by the familiar roar of rush hour traffic, while Guy stood stiffly, looking out the window. He seemed more tense again, and they ate in silence, but Hope was secretly relieved to be free to daydream and not think of her humiliating fall. Afterwards, she made up the sofa-bed for him, showed him where he could find more paracetamol, in case his fever came back, and retreated to her room, leaving him to his thoughts.

In the middle of the night, she woke up and realised the familiar weight of Falkor lying against the small of her back was missing. She found him curled up on the unoccupied sofa-bed. Guy was standing in front of the window again; he had drawn the curtains, and was bathed by the glow of the street lights, and the Christmas lights the council seemed to put up earlier each year. When he heard her footsteps, he turned around. 

“You stole my dog,” she said.

“He came over and wouldn’t leave. I thought if I displeased him, you’d turn me out.”

“Good call,” she laughed. God, had he actually made a joke? Wonders never cease. 

He looked out the window again. “When it’s busy out there, it seems like hell, but when it’s quiet and all the lights are shining, like now, I could think it’s heaven.”

‘Are there no busy roads or street lights where you live?” She asked.

“Not like this. At night, there’s just the moonlight and stars, some times a bonfire.”

“It sounds beautiful,” she said, imagining a rural location straight out of BBC’s _Escape To The Country_. “I bet you can’t wait to get back.”

He stared at her, eyes shining in the dark. “How could I possibly get back?”

“What do you mean?”

He was suddenly in motion, leaning over her. “What is this game?” he growled, and Falkor barked in alarm. “Why are you constantly talking like I’m still alive?”

“Why am I- What the fuck are you talking about?!” Hope was so surprised, she forgot to be scared of his outburst.

“I’m dead! This is Purgatory! You, Hope, supposed to help me not go to Hell! Is this a test? TELL ME THE TRUTH!” He grabbed her around the shoulders and shook her, jarring her bruised joint and making her yelp. He let go of her immediately, and took a step back, looking crestfallen. “I hurt you, forgive me...”

“Guy, what makes you think you are dead?” Hope asked gently, feeling heartbroken for the man who, for all she could guess, must be suffering from some mental health condition or PTSD.

“I was in the Sherrif’s dungeons in Nottingham, I was about to be executed, I escaped to the forest, I fell and broke my neck, probably. Now I’m here, I don’t recognise anything, and you told me you are Hope.” He was speaking slowly and counting the proof on his fingers, like she was being intentionally dense.

“Guy, you’re not dead. You are in Plymouth. I found you outside my house last night, you must have hit your head, but you are definitely not dead, trust me.”

Guy sat on the sofa, looking so lost that it made Hope tear up. “But nothing makes sense,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen a house like this, food like this, I look outside the window and I don’t even know the words to describe what I see. Maybe I left my mind in the Holy Land, with the Lionheart and Ma-...,”

Hope shook her head, swallowing the thick lump that had lodged in her throat. “Guy, listen to me. You are not dead. You bandaged my shoulder, and saw me bleed, and ate food. The year is 2020, this is Plymouth, I don’t know what happened to you, but I _promise_ you that you’re not dead, and I don’t think you’re crazy,” she added, telling herself she was lying to calm him down. “If you were crazy, you wouldn’t have been able to fix my shoulder so efficiently, would you?” she added with a burst of inspiration. 

Guy was watching her face intently, his eyes flicking left and right, like he was trying to readevery micro-expression on her features, and take it all in.

“You swear on the Cross, this is the truth?”

“I swear, honey.”

Guy sat up, thinking frantically, trying to work out what it all meant. She seemed adamant... And he had to admit her arguments made sense. Plus, he had been expecting Hell, not Purgatory, hadn’t he? He had always thought of himself as a practical, realistic man. The shock of finding out he had died -or thinking he had died- had made him fanciful today, but now he took stock of the situation. So, if not the afterlife, then what? Who knew what magic existed in the world that they didn’t know about, Guy thought. Maybe he had gone through a thin place, a _Caol_ _Áit_ Irishmen called it. _Like the one that took King Arthur to Avalon_ , he mused, remembering the stories from _Roman de Brut_ that his mother used to read to him and Isabella when they were children.

He leaned back, resting his head on the cushions, and closed his eyes. “Ok,” he said. “I believe you. I’m sorry.” He smiled mirthlessly. “You don’t have to worry, I won’t lose my composure again.”

Hope breathed a sigh of relief. She hesitated slightly, then touched his hand lightly with her fingers. “Don’t worry about it. How about a cup of tea, and I could stay here for a little bit, if you want?”

He looked down at her hand on his, and then back at her, his eyes slightly wider. “If you like,” he shrugged, but he meant yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historia regum Britanniae (The History of the Kings of Britain), is a pseudohistorical account of British history, written around 1136 by Geoffrey of Monmouth.  
> It was taken as accurate historical fact until around the 16th century, was hugely popular at the time, and is the first narrative account of Arthurian Legend. It was translated into Norman verse in 1155, called Roman de Brut, and may well have been read to little Guy and little Isabella by their mother, who was, after all, a highborn, educated woman.


	6. Chapter 6

Guy was true to his word that he wouldn’t lose his cool again. Over the next couple of days he didn’t mention being dead or feeling unreal, much to Hope’s relief. She just let things drift, wanting to make sure he was stable and grounded in reality before she touched on the subject of him moving on again. She tried not to think too much about the wisdom of unceremoniously allowing a strange man to, essentially, move in with her. The truth was, she enjoyed having someone else to look after, she had missed that since her father had died a year ago. And she still worried about him. He may not have said anything so obviously delusional since the night of his breakdown, but Guy still acted like a visitor from another planet, watching her perform the most mundane tasks with a look of intense concentration, and acting like he didn’t recognise the most common objects. The strangest thing, Hope thought, was that in every other respect, he seemed completely sane and clear-minded. He never forgot anything she told him, and if he commented on something, his observations were intelligent and to the point. He offered to help her chop food or carry heavier objects, and she let him because her shoulder was still bandaged. He generally spent the hours she worked on her PhD dissertation staring out of the window, acting like the city traffic was the latest blockbuster. He had developed a love of showers, but other than that, he was polite and distant and never mentioned leaving. 

On the third day, the bandages had come off Hope’s shoulder, and the cupboards were looking alarmingly bare. When she saw Guy wearing the same clothes she had given him for the third day in a row, and persistently scratching his ever-thickening stubble, she decided she should pick up a razor, toothbrush, and a few other necessities along with the groceries. _Just to tie him over for a few more days_ , she swore.

“He isn’t some stray cat you can adopt, Poppet,” Gran’s voice said in her mind, and Hope giggled at the thought of Guy proudly offering her a dead mouse, or clawing her if she fussed over him too much.

“Guy, I need to go to the shops for a few things, I’ll be back soon ok?” she called from the front door. Guy got up and said “I should come with you,” and Hope was pleased that he was volunteering to leave the house. 

_I should pick up some leather conditioner and sort his clothes out,_ she told herself _. It might help him get a feel of his own life, if he is wearing his own clothes again_.

On the way to the supermarket and back, Guy stayed at her side, always somehow walking between her and the traffic, like some gentleman from the ‘50s ( _Gran, you’d approve_ , thought Hope giddily,) always watching everything wide-eyed, like he was taking mental notes. 

When they were almost at the house’s door, a group of boys, around 13-14 years old, were leaning against the wall of the building across the street. When they saw Hope looking at them, they started nudging each other, hooting with laughter and making loud mooing noises. She flushed, and gave them the finger. 

Guy looked at her curiously. “Why are they making cow sounds?”

“Just ignore them, they think it’s clever to make fun of people,” she said under her breath, eyes fixed resolutely forward.

In an instant, Guy had dropped the bags he had insisted on carrying, and was lurching towards the boys, a towering figure in riding boots, ill-fitting clothes and a face straight out of a bar fight, finger pointing, bellowing “YOU! You will apologise to the lady this minute!” The boys squealed and legged it around the corner, still shrieking with laughter.

“What the fuck are you doing? _Get in the house,”_ hissed Hope, dragging him through the door mortified.

“What the hell was that?” she glared up at him, hands on hips.

“I was teaching those little whore-sons not to disrespect you!” He looked taken aback at her reaction.

“They were just a bunch of idiot kids!”

“They should learn to hold their tongue, before someone cuts it off for them,” Guy said sulkily.

“We. Do. Not. Attack. Idiot. Kids.” Finger poking his chest, underlining every word.

“As you wish,” Guy said stiffly, and he actually sounded offended.

Hope felt a sudden urge to burst in hysterical laughter. Of all the unlikely people to want to defend her honour!

“I can look after myself, Guy,” she said more softly, taking pity on him. “I can give as good as I get!”

“I know, I’ve heard you curse,” he smirked, and she laughed at him all the way to the kitchen.


	7. Chapter 7

Guy was on edge, his temper bubbling, just barely staying under the surface. He knew he had a lot to learn about this world before he could venture out and make his mark, he’d been a soldier long enough to understand the wisdom of reconnaissance. Still, it was _many_ years since he had been so powerless, and having to rely on charity made him bristle. He could feel anger winding tighter and tighter inside him, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, longing for release; How he regretted not getting the chance to beat those craven braggarts to a bloody pulp!

Hope stood at the kitchen table, her mind spinning. She hadn’t paid close attention to Guy’s clothes before, but as she was spreading the conditioner on the dried and cracked leather, carefully massaging it in, she could see the many odd details on the trousers. They were obviously good quality, she could tell that even now, as the thirsty leather was becoming soft and supple again under the pressure of her massaging fingers. The seams were strong, but the stitches were uneven enough that you could tell they were done completely by hand. At the front, instead of buttons or a zip, two rows of holes were punched into the leather, and a leather cord had been threaded through them to keep the trousers closed. Hope shook her head, remembering Guy’s apparent ignorance of every-day customs and objects, the archaic words he sometimes used, even his accent (that she had to admit, having googled a number of videos, *could* conceivably be described as Anglo-Norman.) If this was a delusion, she thought as she kneaded the cream into the leather, it was an incredibly detailed one. And she was starting to have her doubts.

As Guy was pacing, simmering in his resentment, his eye caught Hope standing in front of the table, her back turned to him, hands working on something he couldn’t see. Curious, he moved to get a better view, and he realised she was bent over his leathers, applying some kind of cream, hands rubbing thoroughly over the trousers’ thighs and crotch, her whole body moving with the motion, making her ample buttocks jiggle. All of a sudden, Guy’s anger was replaced by something else, equally hot and seething, as his body remembered how long it had been since anyone had touched it like that.

Hope heard Guy coming up behind her, and felt his breath on the side of her face as he said in a low voice, “You should have let me punish those boys...”

She turned around, and found herself wedged between Guy and the table. 

“Don’t worry about it, Guy. I’m used to it, it doesn’t bother me.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t bother you when someone like them disrespects you to your face?”

Shrug. “All they can see is a big girl walking down the street, and to them, it’s a joke. Why should I care what someone like that thinks of me?”

He bent his head slightly, to look into her eyes. She _was_ tall, the top of her head reaching his nose. “Would you care to hear what _I_ think of you?”

Hard swallow, nod.

He touched her hair, “I think you’re kind,”

Run his finger down the side of her face, “I think you’re brave,”

Breathed in her ear, “I think you’re beautiful.”

Hope snorted, and he moved his head back to stare at her. “You think I’m jesting?”

“Aren’t you?”

“See for yourself,” he said, pressing his body against her, stubble tickling her cheek, and then he kissed her.

And, oh! she was lost, and they pressed against each other, sharing the same breath, tongues twisting, and he moaned in her mouth, and lifted her onto the table, taking his shirt off, hands under her top on her breasts and around her back, as they rocked together.

Afterwards, Guy rested his forehead on hers, catching his breath, and she stroked the many scars on his arms, chest and abdomen.

“You really do come from the 12th century, don’t you?

“I told you.”

“I believe you.”


	8. Chapter 8

After that day, Hope was amazed to see a side to Guy that she never expected. That night, he showed up in her bedroom, smiling like the cat that got the cream; she moved to make space for him and he spent the night draped over her, much to the disgust of Falkor, who had been displaced to the foot of the bed. He did the same again the next night, and the next, and it quickly became a routine. 

During the day, they would potter along companionably, Guy slowly exploring and learning more about how everything worked. Hope had imagined that he would have a hard time with a lot of modern concepts and inventions, but to her surprise and relief, Guy was stoically accepting of most things. It seemed like, once he had fixed in his mind the fact that this was the year 2020, he just expected that a lot of things would not make sense. Guy, thought Hope, was the most  practical man she’d ever met. He was far from unintelligent, but surrounded with all this  _ newness _ , he didn’t bother with the how and why -he just methodically collected every new skill she showed him, and moved on to the next one.

She also discovered that he had a really dry sense of humour, when he let himself show it. He had this habit of looking up for a reaction when he made a joke -Guy was a man who liked an audience, Hope was realising.

He never offered her any words of affection during the days, although in unspoken ways he was behaving very differently than he had before.

From being stiff and distant he became surprisingly tactile, always touching her back, running a hand down her arms, breathing in her ear... Then, every evening, they got in the same bed, had sex, and slept holding each other through the night.

It was a fragile equilibrium, and Hope was finding herself holding her breath. She was very aware that things couldn’t stay like this for too long. One way or another, Guy would have to move on soon.


	9. Chapter 9

One evening, Hope was sitting up in bed with Guy’s head on her lap. She was ostensibly reading a book, but in reality kept peering over the top at his eyelashes casting a shadow on his pale cheeks, his long nose, his thin, clever lips. He was drowsy, looking relaxed, but his fingers kept dancing just under the hem of her shirt.

_ I’m getting too attached...  _ she thought to herself.

_ He’s not some stray you can adopt, Poppet,  _ Gran’s voice was in her head again, spelling out her thoughts like she had when she was alive. Hope sighed, and closed her book.

“Guy?”

“Mmmmm?”

“Sing me a song...”

“Mmm.” His fingers travelling higher, playing with her breast. “There are better ways to pass the time.”

“Come on, sing me a song!”

Amused, she flicked his nose, and he glared at her.

“I’m not a minstrel!”

“And I’m not Freddie Mercury, but you still got me to sing.”

“Ah, but that was for your own good.”

“So is this. I’m getting bored, I might leave in a minute,” she teased him.

“I don’t know any songs,” Guy groaned, then gave up when Hope pretended to be getting up.

“Paura pichona,

Perqué plorar?

Lo niu d'ironda

Va s'envolar.

Paura pichona, 

Cal pas plorar,

Ambe l'aureta

Lo niu vendrà.

Paura pichona,

Consòla-te,

Lo niu d'ironda

Tornarà ben.”

“That’s lovely,” breathed Hope. “What is it?”

Guy blinked. “It’s a lullaby,” he said, “my mother used to sing it. I didn’t think I’d remember it.”

“What language is that?”

“Occitan. My mother was French.”

“Tell me about your life, before,” Hoped asked him, and Guy was torn. On the one hand, having someone want to get to know him better was a very nice feeling, and not one he was accustomed to. On the other hand he really didn’t feel like going back, even just in his mind. What good could possibly come from it? Everything he had worked for all these years was gone, and all that was left was the  taint .

He compromised by shrugging and keeping it short. “Not much to tell. I worked for the Sheriff for years, ran things for him. I was...” ( Feared? Loathed ?) “...respected,” was what he settled on.

“Do you want to go back?” Hope hated how needy she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself.  Don’t go back... 

Guy shook his head. “No. Things got... bad. There’s nothing left for me there.”  There really isn’t,  he thought bitterly. All these years of putting up with Vaisey’s whims and humiliations, all the bits of himself he had had to amputate and shed in the process of rebuilding the Gisborne name and fortune, and there was nothing to show for it all. 

“No... family?” 

“No.”  None to speak of... 

Guy had had enough of these questions, now. What difference did it make, picking at the past like a scab? He had lost everything and had to start from scratch before, and, although he would never have chosen it, it appeared he had to do the same again. So be it. Guy was surprised to find the thought didn’t bother him as much as it should have. All the ambition that drove him for so many years had been burnt away, turned to ashes in the blaze that was Marian’s death, and in its place a need for revenge had grown like a twisted, blackened tree that had survived a forest fire. But now, after being away for just a few days, his appetite for revenge had left him. Let Isabella have Nottingham, let Hood have Sherwood. They could kill each other, for all he cared, he was done.  I want to stay here... With Hope , Guy realised. Why not? He liked being around her, she had the means to help him, and she responded to him in a way that was very... flattering. She sure as hell was a better choice of someone to throw his lot in with, than Vaisey had been, Guy knew.

No one would accuse him of having a poet’s soul, but Hope reminded him of the sun-drenched fields in France. She reminded him of the Earth. She was generous, and nurturing, and warm, and vast, and heavy, and, Guy thought, she grounded him.

“Your turn,” he said, changing the subject. “And none of those songs about the men you killed.”

Hope giggled. “I’ve told you, that was Freddie Mercury. We’ve got to do something about your musical education.”

“Now seems a good time to start!”

“Right, ok...” Hope scrunched her forehead, trying to think of a song. “I know, this is one my dad used to sing to me when I was a teenager and got in a strop.

#In the crazy world

Anything can happen

If you will it to

I'm just a hazy girl

Blurring all the edges

Only seeing blue

It's a wild hope

A wild hope

A wild hope

Everything will be alright.”

“Wild Hope, hmmm?” Guy murmured against her neck. “I’d like to hear more about that...”

_Guy is back in Locksley, about to get married._

_“Are you married, Thornton?”_

_“I was. She died, years ago.”_

_“Did your wife... understand you?”_

_“I’d like to think so, yes.” The old servant’s kindly face twists into a mocking parody of itself. “We were both human, you see. So we could understand each other. No one understands you... because there is no humanity left in you, is there, Gisborne? No heart... Just the howling void._

_Don’t look inside you Gisborne. You know what they say happens, when you look into the abyss... It looks back.”_

_Thornton’s face twists again, morphing into Vaisey._

_“Lepers, Gisborne... You were always running after lepers. I wonder why that is, hmmm? Could it be -rot calling to rot? Like father, like son, eh?”_

_Maggots are squirming out of Vaisey’s eyes now, he smiles widely and his jeweled tooth winks at Guy. “My boy...” The Sheriff leans close, his carrion breath stroking Guy’s face like a promise. “I made you. I know you...”_

_“Nooooo...”_

_“What is it, Guy?” It’s Marian’s voice, and he opens his eyes and sees her smiling, looking down at him. “It’s just a nightmare, it’s not real.” She strokeshis forehead with her cool fingers, and pulls up the blankets, tucking him in._

_“It’s not real, none of it was ever real, you stupid boy... Only the sand, the sand is real and it gets COLD, Guy, I’m COLD, it’s COLD where you sent me.”_

_And the floor turns to sand, the bed turns to sand, it’s in Guy’s mouth, in his nostrils, and everything goes dark._

_“Paura pichona,_

_Consòla-te,_

_Lo niu d'ironda_

_Tornarà ben.”_

_“Mother? I destroyed everything, mother...”_

_ “Shhhh,  Fiéumèus. It’s fine. Nothing is destroyed, just changing. Lo niu tornarà ben, remember. _

_Look, the door is open. Go out in the sun for a bit, it will do you good.”_

_# It’s a wild hope,_

_A wild hope,#_

_“-everyone deserves to be loved-“_

_#A wild hope,_

_Everything will be alright.#_

Hope started awake in the middle of the night. Guy was kicking her, tangled in the covers, obviously having a nightmare. She reached over to turn the bedside light on, intending to wake him up, but then he suddenly sat up, calling out her name.

“Hope!”

“Shhh... I’m here.”

Before Hope could ask what was wrong, Guy was on her like a starving man, kissing her desperately, cupping her breasts, pressing against her like he was trying to bury his whole self inside her. He was holding her so tightly that it was almost hurting her, but Hope couldn’t bring herself to care. Something had changed. Guy’s teeth and tongue were all over her, and Hope could feel him tremble. She had never realised how much he held back every other time she’d been with him. Instinctively, she put her hands on his face and kissed him back, keeping her eyes on his. She just felt like, more than anything else, he needed to be seen...

Guy pulled his head back and looked at her. His pupils were so dilated that his blue eyes looked almost black.

“Tell me you want to be with me,” he begged. 

“I want to be with you.” 

He moaned and reached between her legs, pulled her underwear aside and pushed inside her. “Say it again.” 

“I want to - Oh! - I want to be with you. I want you to stay with me. Guy! I love you...” 

He rained kisses all over her face, thrusting, and it was all over so quickly; but that felt right, too. She stroked his face and kissed him, and Guy stared at her, lost for words. 

“Hope... You deserve to be loved. I don’t know that there’s enough good left in me to do that.” She kissed him again, and spoke his words back to him. “Hush. I know it’s hard. But it hurts more if you fight it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Occitan lullaby is this one: https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=3877  
> Can’t say I’m sure how old it is, but I’m sure Ghislaine would have sung something similar.
> 
> *The song Hope sings is Wild Hope, by Mandy Moore.
> 
> *Fiéu mèus: my son  
> Lo niu tornarà ben: The nest will come back again.


	10. Chapter 10

Eyes closed, listening to the constant ticking of the clock on her wall, Hope was having trouble sleeping again. She tried not to move too much; Guy was sleeping peacefully for once, and Falkor was twitching in his doggy dreams, tucked in his usual spot behind her knees.  A scene of domestic bliss... If only it was so simple.  Hope missed her grandmother like crazy. The chain-smoking old lady had practically raised her, brought her up on a mix of post-war practicality and unconditional love and acceptance that she had never found in anyone else, young or old. Hope still often heard her Gran’s voice in her head, like her very own version of a (lovingly cynical) conscience.

_ How did I let him get under my skin so quickly, Gran? _

_ The old woman in Hope’s mind looked at her sternly over her glasses, but there was warmth and affection in her eyes. _

_ “Hmph, I don’t know why you’re surprised. You were never the sensible one. Remember when you were little, and you tried to smuggle that puppy home under your shirt?”  She shook her head . ‘I told you he wasn’t one of your strays, Poppet...“ _

_ He is though _ , thought Hope. If ever there was a creature that had nowhere to belong, it was Guy. So she’d moved him in, and cleaned him up, and fell in love with him _(_ _ Plot twist! -Not... _ _)_ And now what? He couldn’t sit in the house for ever, but how could he have a proper life without a passport, an NHS number, all the little bits of information that everyone trails around with them today? 

Hope knew she was impulsive and a risk-taker. It had got her in trouble more than once, although never for anything big. ( _ Yet _ ... she told herself.  _ That may *well* be about to change. _ )

_ Oh God, oh God... Am I really going to do this? _

_ I know you will, Poppet, but at least be careful _ , said Gran in her head. 

Hope sighed and got up, sat on the table and turned her laptop on. She would put the first few pieces of her plan in place, and then talk to Guy about it, and hope for the best.

For the next few days, Hope was on edge, going over and over the plan in her head, and jumping every time she heard the letterbox clang. Finally, the postman delivered the thick, cardboard envelope she had been expecting. Time to do the thing she had been simultaneously building up to and dreading. Hope took a deep breath and went to find Guy.

“Guy,” she said, and he looked up at her questioningly, “did you mean what you said last week? That you didn’t want to go back, I mean.”

“I did,” he replied firmly. “If I get the choice, I would prefer to stay in this time.”

_ Here goes nothing _ _..._ “Ok. If that’s what you want, we’ve got work to do. This is very different from your time.

Guy put down the mobile he’d been fiddling with, and focused on her, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

_ Bloody hell, how do I even explain this to him? _ “Everyone in 2020 needs to have the correct paperwork for everything, otherwise they are not able to do things like get a job, or even see a doctor. The problem is, technically you don’t exist in this time.” Hope sat down on the sofa next to Guy, so that they were eye-level. “I  think I found a way around this, but it’s tricky, and it will take time.”

He listened carefully, brows furrowed. “ Why does it have to be tricky? Can’t I just be given this paperwork now, surely whoever is the ruler of this place will be able to grant it to me, if he wished to?” he asked, visibly confused.

Hope shook her head. 

“No, Guy, everyone gets the paperwork as soon as they are born. There is no way to explain why you don’t have it, they would think you’re crazy, or worse.”

Guy thought he understood what she meant. Travelling to different worlds? Stories are well and good, but he knew full well what would happen -what he, himself, would have done- to someone who actually claimed to be visiting from the past back in Nottingham.  And these things spread by association ... He glanced over at Hope, and shuddered at the thought.

“Ok, so what do we do?” he asked her.

“We’ll have to build up a past for you, slowly. You’ll have to be ok with staying with me for a while, Guy, maybe a year or more; We’d have to make sure you learn all the things that someone born in this time would know. It’s not all going to make sense, you’ll have to trust me.” Hope reached out and took his hand. “Can you do that?”

Guy gave her hand a squeeze.

“After this past week? I trust you with my life.”

Hope’s heart swelled. Oh, there was a lot she didn’t know about Guy, but she had learned enough to know this was not something he said lightly, or often.

She beamed at him, and he beamed back.

“Excellent!” Hope handed Guy the cardboard envelope. “This is your name, for now.”

Guy frowned at the document he had pulled out. 

“Nicholas Michael Rowe?”

“Ex boyfriend. I know enough about him to be able to order a copy of his birth certificate. Plus he was a colossal arsehole, so I don’t feel bad!”

Guy chuckled at her smug expression. This was an amusing change from the ever-kind and generous Hope he had seen so far!

Hope smirked back at him, but then her face turned serious.

“Listen, once we start this, you must  never let anyone know that your name is not Nicholas Rowe. Using someone else’s identity is illegal, we could both go to prison for it.”

_What_?  He took two steps back, earning himself a startled look from Hope.

“We’re not doing it, then. Out of the question.”

“Guy, relax, if we’re careful it will be fine,” she reassured him.

“NO!” He was getting frantic now, looking at Hope with wide eyes, shocking her.  _ I hadn’t pegged him for such a rules follower!  _

“I will NOT allow you to take that risk,” he pointed a finger at her, voice rising.

“You  have to,” she answered, matching his volume, “you need the paperwork, and that’s how you get it!”

“I’ll leave,” Guy said. “I’ll be gone by tonight. This isn’t something you will be doing, I forbid it!”

_ The fuck? _

Hope’s hand landed on his cheek with a ringing  slap , followed by a hard shove for good measure. She put her considerable weight behind it, causing him to stumble and almost fall. He gaped at her, and Falkor gave a series of shrill barks, alarmed at the sudden burst of activity.

“MY risk!” she hissed, eyes blazing. “MY life, MY decision. You want to leave because you don’t want to be with me, go ahead, but if you think I’ll let you go because of some stupid idea that I need protecting, you are SO wrong. I will follow you, slapping you around your thick head, until you see sense and come back.  I love you. Idiot.”

“Hope please,” Guy whispered, “you don’t understand. People were jailed for trying to help me before, people  died .I’ve done so many bad things, and... and that’s... I’ve made peace with that, but if someone else I care about died trying to help me, I couldn’t bear it if that happened to you...”

Hope shook her head. “It’s not like that here, your time was a lot more dangerous. Look,“ she said, trying to reassure him, “Nick isn’t even in the country anymore, he’s got a job in-“ she waved her hand vaguely “-Holland or something. I still see his mum, if he ever comes back, I’ll find out.”

She could see that Guy was still looking torn. “ If we get caught, you can say you got Nick’s information out of me, and did the rest yourself. We’ll take time to come up with a cover story. You won’t be able to make a life here without this, Guy,” she pressed.

Relenting, Guy sighed and pulled her to him. He stroked her hair, resting his chin on her head. “Stupid girl... What would I do without you?”

Hope nuzzled his neck, enjoying the contrast between soft skin and stubble. “Without me? You wouldn’t know how to use a shower, you’d stink, and you’d walk into traffic. It’s a good thing you have me.”

“Very good,” he agreed.


End file.
